


Dust to Dust

by Kantayra



Category: Nabari no Ou
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-04
Updated: 2011-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-22 04:57:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even in dust, Yoite's memory had the power to bind them together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dust to Dust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chibifukurou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibifukurou/gifts).



_Yoite was—_

Yukimi stared at the highlighted words on his computer screen for a long time and then, with a sigh, hit delete.

 _Yoite died—_

Yukimi deleted that one before it could get any further.

 _Why?_

Yukimi stared at that one for a long time. “Why, indeed?” he said aloud.

He still did that sometimes: talked to himself without realizing he was doing so. It wasn’t until the words echoed into nothingness that he realized what he’d done and what he’d lost. He’d never expected a response, of course; Yoite had never said anything, even when he was there. But somehow it was different, venting into the ether, than ranting to Yoite’s silent but ever-listening presence.

Yukimi deleted the _Why?_ He knew why.

 _It was inevitable._

Yukimi deleted that as well and rubbed his eyes. They were starting to hurt from staring at the computer monitor in the dark for too long. He had a deadline tomorrow that he hadn’t even started on, but he couldn’t write a word. Yoite’s epitaph spun in endless circles in his mind, perpetually going nowhere, and blocking out everything else.

“Fuck this,” Yukimi decided, grabbed his jacket, and headed out.

***

Yukimi had only meant to get some air; he hadn’t meant to go to Banten village at all. Against his will, though, his feet took him there until he was not far from the house of Banten’s crazy, pacifistic leader, and Yukimi gazed out over the ocean as dusk fell.

“Stupid,” Yukimi chided himself.

“If you keep talking to yourself, people will look at you funny,” came a voice from behind him.

For just a second, Yukimi’s mind assumed that – of course – it was just Yoite. The pang of loss that followed immediately thereafter was so painful that Yukimi felt his eyes water up against the wind. It was just dust in his eye, though, nothing more, and he brushed it aside as he turned around.

“Not-Shinra-Banshou,” he greeted cheekily. “Who says I was talking to myself anyway?”

“Not-Kairoushuu,” Rokujou said in a way that was entirely disinterested yet seemed all the more insouciant for it. “I do. Unless you’ve got a cat up in that tree.” Rokujou inclined his head slightly.

Yukimi sighed dramatically. “I hate bratty kids.”

“I hate adults who think they know everything,” Rokujou shot back.

Yukimi laughed. “You really are a piece of work, kid,” he said almost fondly.

Rokujou didn’t respond but instead approached Yukimi so that he could see the view Yukimi had been looking out on just before. “He loved overlooking the sea,” Rokujou said with so little pain that Yukimi hurt just to hear it. Rokujou gave Yukimi a soft, understanding smile.

“Whatever,” Yukimi brushed him off and turned away. “I have to be somewhere.”

Rokujou didn’t seem fooled by the lie in the slightest. “I’ll look forward to your epitaph.”

Yukimi made an obscene gesture in Rokujou’s direction and vanished into the night in a way that only ninjas could.

***

The stupid epitaph was Yukimi’s whole problem. He had entire notebooks decided to everything Yoite had done during their time together, but when it came time to actually _say_ something, Yukimi was at a total loss.

“If you want me to write it instead, I could do that for you,” Rokujou said out of nowhere.

Yukimi practically had a heart attack. He fell out of the lotus position he’d been sitting in, in the middle of the cemetery where the ceremony was to take place only a few days hence. “What, are you trying to kill me, too?” Yukimi complained, although he almost instantly regretted the words.

In truth, he was just angry with himself. He shouldn’t have let himself be caught unaware like that. He’d been trained not to, and Yoite’s ghostlike presence had just reinforced the notion. Yoite had had the most incredible ability to pop out of absolutely nowhere and startle the bejeezus out of Yukimi if he wasn’t careful.

Already Yukimi wasn’t being careful anymore. Already Yoite was fading away. _No_ , Yukimi corrected himself a bit cruelly, _Yoite already has faded away._

“Not much of a ninja, are you?” Rokujou teased. “No wonder you need help.”

“Help? Which one of us is the writer here, kid?” Yukimi huffed. “The only thing I need is for you to leave me the hell alone so that I can think.”

Rokujou smirked at this. He didn’t even _need_ to say anything.

“And keep your wise-cracks to yourself,” Yukimi grumbled before deliberately burying his face back in his notebook and pretending to concentrate once more.

“You’re funny. I can see why he liked hanging out with you,” was Rokujou’s parting salvo.

“Humph,” Yukimi said in response, but he found himself smiling – despite everything – nonetheless.

***

When Yukimi returned to his apartment the next day after getting down on hands and knees before his editor and begging for a week’s extension on his latest article, he found a package inside his door. Since the door had been locked, whoever left it there must have come through the window. Odds were that meant it had been a ninja. Yukimi should probably be cautious of the package as a result.

Instead, he ripped it open with unashamed curiosity. He’d never been fond of being overly cautious anyway.

Inside was some folded white tissue paper. Yukimi unfolded it to reveal the garment inside.

It was white, made of yarn, and for a second Yukimi’s heart seized when he thought he recognized the scarf Yoite had taken to wearing in his final months. Then Yukimi unfolded the scarf, though, and this one was barely long enough to fit around his neck.

“The fuck?” Yukimi scratched his head at the scarf that was too small for anyone to conceivably wear. He searched through the packaging for any other clue what the Shinra Banshou brat was thinking – because of _course_ , it was the Shinra Banshou – but there was nothing else there.

Somehow, the scarf seemed _meaningful_ , though, in a way Yukimi couldn’t really explain.

He threw it over the back of his chair for a headrest and returned to staring blankly at his screen.

***

Yukimi couldn’t write.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know what to write (although he didn’t) or that there was an empty space on his floor where there shouldn’t be (although there was). It wasn’t even because the half-scarf on the headrest of his chair kept falling down, to the point that Yukimi couldn’t figure out why he didn’t just leave it on the floor instead of picking it back up again every time.

Yukimi couldn’t write because he knew that Shinra Banshou brat was following him and it was driving him crazy.

After only about half an hour trying to write that evening, Yukimi stalked his way over to Banten. He burst into the restaurant with a flourish and pointed his finger accusingly at the suspiciously innocent-looking boy behind the counter.

“I know you’re following me, and it’s driving me crazy!” Yukimi complained.

Rokujou blinked at Yukimi like he really _was_ crazy.

Yukimi glared at him.

Rokujou blinked some more.

Yukimi’s stomach growled. He hadn’t even been conscious of the delicious smells wafting from the grill until that moment.

“Would you like something to eat?” Rokujou asked with fluttering eyelashes that could melt a heart of stone. The kid’s talents really were wasted anywhere but in advertising.

Yukimi wavered, thought, and yielded. He didn’t have much money in his pocket because he wouldn’t get paid again until he finished the article he’d put off. But the alternative was to think about okonomiyaki all night and not get _any_ work done.

“You’re one devious kid,” Yukimi agreed and sat down.

***

Yukimi had been on the verge of killing himself with a caffeine overdose when Rokujou slipped in the window. Yukimi flipped out of his seat and was shielded behind his desk with his gun out and aimed in less than a heartbeat.

Rokujou looked at him curiously.

“Jeez,” Yukimi sighed with relief. “You really are trying to give me a heart attack, aren’t you?”

Rokujou held up the bag he’d brought with him. “The restaurant just closed.”

Yukimi glanced behind Rokujou out the window and realized that, indeed, it was well past dark now.

“I thought you might like some leftovers.” Rokujou set the bag on the table. “Food will give you energy to write faster.” He smiled the most ridiculously cute smile Yukimi had ever seen.

Yukimi suspected that food would actually just distract him for the whole evening and then make him so sleepy he went straight to bed, just like last night. “I swear,” Yukimi accused, “you’re sabotaging me.”

“There’s squid.”

“ _Definitely_ sabotaging me.” Yukimi sat down to eat.

Rokujou sat across from him. “I’ve been grilling all night. No time for dinner until now,” he explained before Yukimi could even fully wrap his mind around what was happening.

Yukimi just sighed wearily and dug in.

They ate in silence for a few blissful minutes, and then Rokujou asked, “So, how’s it coming along?”

“Yoite vanished into dust, and there’s only two days left until the funeral. How do you _think_ it’s going?” Yukimi shot back, overwhelmed by frustration.

Rokujou nibbled at his food thoughtfully. “Is that really how you think of it? You sound really angry.”

“Of _course_ I’m angry! Of all the pointless, stupid ways to die…” Yukimi wiped at his eyes abruptly. There must have been dust in them again.

Rokujou shrugged. “What better way is there to die happy, with a smile on your face, surrounded by people who love you?”

Yukimi didn’t have a good counter-argument to that. It didn’t make him any less mad, though.

A pregnant silence followed.

“He knew you still cared,” Rokujou finally said. “Even though you weren’t there physically. He understood how you are.”

“How am I?” Yukimi practically growled.

Rokujou beamed at him. “A grumpy old man.”

Yukimi swatted at him half-heartedly. “Spoiled brat…”

Rokujou didn’t leave after dinner, though, even though Yukimi ignored him in favor of muttering at his computer screen once more.

“Have to get this done tonight…” Yukimi muttered to himself. “My editor’s going to rip me a new one if I don’t get my ass in gear.”

Silence followed Yukimi’s words, but it was a different kind of silence. It was a kind of silence Yukimi knew only too well.

He froze and then turned very slowly. Rokujou was sitting on the couch, his head listing to one side, half asleep already. He was less than five feet from the spot Yoite used to occupy on the floor, although of course Rokujou couldn’t have known that. Or, at least, Yukimi _hoped_ the two of them had found better things to talk about than where Yoite had sat on the floor.

Despite himself, Yukimi found himself smiling.

“All right, here I go!” Yukimi cracked his knuckles. “I am a human dynamo tonight!”

In the end, he only wrote a page and a half, but sometimes that was enough.

***

The day of Yoite’s funeral was clear and sunny. All of Banten Village was there, as well as what remained of Yoite’s acquaintances from Kairoushuu. Yukimi’s epitaph was finished by then (although he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before), and he only choked up twice when delivering it.

Afterward, the others headed back to Banten, and Yukimi returned to his car to go back home alone. Before he could start the engine, there was a knock on the window.

“Don’t you have better things to do with yourself?” Yukimi asked after he’d opened the passenger door. “I know you’ve got friends. They’re probably waiting for you.”

Rokujou got in and fastened his seatbelt. “Tonight, I’d rather be with someone who knew Yoite.”

Yukimi opened his mouth—

“ _Really_ knew him.”

Yukimi closed his mouth again and started the car. Rokujou didn’t say anything, either. It was eerie how much the kid reminded Yukimi of Yoite sometimes.

“I don’t think it means anything,” Rokujou said, as if reading Yukimi’s mind.

“Huh?”

“That he turned to dust.” Rokujou smiled. “We didn’t have a body to bury, true, but I don’t think that means anything. Instead of buried in the ground, Yoite is all around us. In the air and the sunlight. We breathe him in every day.”

“You’re morbid,” Yukimi said. “You know that, right?”

Rokujou looked out the window instead, where the last beams of the evening sunlight lit up the dust in the air until everything looked like it was made of gold.

Yukimi’s heart seized, but not in a painful way this time. Sometimes, Rokujou _really_ reminded Yukimi of Yoite. He supposed that was why they’d been such close friends.

“You can come over,” Yukimi finally said, which was silly because they’d already been driving to Yukimi’s apartment for some time. “I’m not going to entertain you or anything, though, so don’t get any ideas.”

Rokujou blinked up at him innocently.

“I have a deadline coming right up, and I haven’t even started yet. I’ll probably be yelling a lot of words that a kid your age shouldn’t even know.”

Rokujou snickered.

“But, if you still want,” Yukimi concluded, “you can come over. Not that I want you to or anything. You’re just good luck. Last time you were over, I got a lot written.”

“Of course,” Rokujou agreed.

“That’s all,” Yukimi insisted.

“All right,” Rokujou smiled.

***

Yoite had vanished to dust a week ago to that day. But, when Yukimi’s random rants fell, not into the void, but into silent, amused ears instead, only a fool would believe that Yoite wasn’t with them still, the glue that bound both their worlds together.

 _Yoite was a boy who thought he would always be alone but who, in the end, brought people together._

It wasn’t a perfect epitaph, but it would do.


End file.
